Still Passing Open Windows ....

The after effects

I can feel my body dealing with IUI #5 (it's far more manageable if I refer to it like that, it feels nicely categorized and numbered and filed away, item #5, as if everything is under control). I've been really thirsty and my body has been eliminating very efficiently, like twice a day if you want details. My reflexologist said that she can feel my liver is bigger than normal and working hard and it just confirmed what I felt. It's the first time I've felt the effects of the stimulation this strongly after a cycle.

Now I am tired, tired, tired. H is away and I'm joining him tomorrow. The house feels lonely and empty. I have Shark Tale on to give me some background noise.

And on the other side of the world, P. W. Botha, a former South African Prime Minister died yesterday, aged 90. Nelson Mandela said, "While to many Mr Botha will remain a symbol of apartheid, we also remember him for the steps he took to pave the way towards the eventual peacefully negotiated settlement in our country." Mandela's generosity of spirit always amazes me, he is an incredible person. He was in prison throughout Botha's reign and yet he still manages to say something nice about the man. He is an inspiration and a rare, rare person.

And on that note, this lesser person will sign off, wishing you all a happy November. I am off to sleep.

Let them paint

Spotting. This cycle is over. My body is good that way. It always lets me know before the blood test. So I am painting. Thank goodness for painting. My fingers are purple and pink but I can dab away and create swirls of colour that express a vague mood without me having to think too much or express anything. Artistic merit is probably zero but as a suitable activity for today, I give painting 10 out of 10.

One of my best friends has had 2 children in the time we have been trying to have one. What should we do? Am I ridiculous still pursuing Plan A? Should I be looking into Plan B? Should I try a combination Plan A and B? I would adopt in a heartbeat the way I feel today and then I look at H and think, "He should have children that look like him, that have his characteristics, and with any other woman, he would," and I dissolve. So, a pea-sized blob of dioxazine purple on a sponge and swirl, swirl, swirl. Maybe a spiral of cobalt blue? Should we have butternut soup for lunch? Yes, let's eat early, I'll take it out the fridge.

And life goes on.

Yesterday I went to an acupuncture session. When I was doing IUI last time, I would always have terrible anxiety stomach aches during the infamous two week wait. I asked my RE about doing acupuncture, as I was reading about it at the time, and he said, "Why not? If it works, tell me."

Amazingly enough it did work. The next IUI was successful but what I think is more important is that I had no stomach aches AT ALL and I had two acupuncture sessions during that two week wait. I have tried everything to get rid of these stomach aches, which I always seem to get when I'm emotionally upset - yoga, positive thinking, muscle relaxants, lying down, sleeping, exercise - and nothing has been as effective as acupuncture. Whether it had an effect on the success of the insemination or not, I have no idea. Or rather, I am playing it safe and just saying, "No comment."

In any case, I like the doctor who does the acupuncture. He is a very feet-on-the-ground type and he exudes reassurance but not too much, just that sort of "Ok, let's see what we have here," attitude that nothing is too scary to look at. After yesterday's session I felt very safe. It's odd but that is the only way I can explain it. I went home and read on the couch while my husband studied and my mind felt calm and I felt safe, like you do when you are little and both your parents are home and you have done all your homework. Even today I feel calm, deeply calm, like a certain serenity. It is a lovely way to feel.

My feelings on the two week wait are mixed. On the one hand I am incredibley hopeful. Whenever I feel vaguely nauseous (quite normal for me) or my blood sugars are a little low, I think, "That's it, this one is going well." On the other hand, I am thinking more and more about adoption. My body seems to be wonky. I have a short cervix, as the doctors say EVERY time they do an ultrasound dammit, "Yes, you can see she has a very short cervix." Next time, I will lean over the and grab the mike and say, "Now you can see that I have a very short cervix. And on the left, if you will look this way, you can see .... how many follicules?" So, the short cervix thing freaks me out as the cerclage I had last time was a disaster. And I am dreaming of Mongolian babies. Why? I have no idea. No ties to Mongolia. Actually, wait, my husband went there a month after I lost the pregnancy. Mmm, definitely something to discuss with my therapist because honestly, the ties between me and Mongolia are slight, gossamer thin actually. The wind could blow them away but this idea of adoption is taking root, slowly. Maybe I just want a Plan B.

On Monday morning I went in for an ultrasound, dragging H along with me for moral support. One dominant follicule and several little ones were visible so the nurse gave me an injection to provoke the ovulation and an appointment for the IUI on Tuesday at 1 p.m.

She phoned me at work in the afternoon to confirm everything, "And your husband will pass by at 12 o'clock with the sperm," she said loudly, her words seeming to boom off the walls of my office into the ears of my two office mates.

"Um, yes," I whispered, trying to bring the general volume level down.

So my husband passed by today at 12 with the sperm, as instructed. We had lunch together in a nice restaurant we have found nearby. Actually, it is my dream restaurant and I would never have believed it is possible to have a bookshop, organic food and the most divine chocolate cake all in one place. And the best thing; it never seems to be overfull of intimidating intellectual types who look up when I walk in as if to ask why I am not working on my master's thesis, mmm? (Just to clarify things, I have no master's thesis to work on and am not even planning one at this stage. That was just my intellectual inferiority complex talking.)  And after lunch, I went back, the IUI was over in two minutes, I lay there for about 10 minutes and that was it.

And now I feel .... bleah. Bleah, bleah, bleah.

The hormones

Either the hormones are clocking in or I am becoming a truly ratty person. I was looking at lamps in a shop today. The lamps I liked had big wide lampshades and I need a tall lamp that is as narrow as possible so I can squeeze it into the corner between two paintings. I began to unscrew the lampshade so I could try on a narrow lampshade that was on the shelf when a shop assistant flew across the floor. "The lamp is sold with the lampshade," she said, "You are not allowed to take them off."

"I wanted to try the narrow lampshade," I said.

"Besides," she continued, "it wouldn't look nice with another lampshade."

"Yes. It. Would.Besides, I don't like this style," I said feeling a wave of rage rise up. How dare she impose her views of interior design on me?! A narrow lampshade would look extremely elegant.

She stomped off. I stomped off, restraining myself from continuing the argument. It's a lampshade, Carlynn, a lampshade. Lots of shops sell them together.

My friend came up and I told her, "They sell the lamp and lampshade together."

"Yes, but you can buy the lamp and another lampshade in a light shop and just get rid of the original lampshade."

That possibility hadn't occurred to me. The possibility that had occurred to me was ripping a shop assistant's head off. Note to self: must stop the hormones. And this is only 150 units a day. 

The hope waltz

Tired. Tired, tired, tired, like someone has sucked the marrow from my bones and left me feeling empty and weak. Maybe it's the hormones, I tell myself, and I have a slight headache that seems to be dogging me, but then I speak to my husband and his voice sounds like it's 2 a.m. and he has been working all night and it's only 5 p.m. Maybe it is just normal end-of-week fatigue.

So, I know all my loyal readers (yes, I have readers! Seventeen, there are seventeen people reading me!) are waiting with bated breath to hear the results of this morning's scan. Ok, I can hear my voice echoing back at me from an empty cyberspace but hey, it's Friday, the week is over and I am amusing myself. "Write for yourself, stuff you enjoy," said my uncle the artist so that's what I'm doing. So. The scan. It went well, despite my anxiety that something, up to now undiscovered, would pop up its ugly and complicated little head. There was an audience of three - my RE, one of his assistants and a tall gangly intern. At least the lights were dim because if I think now of being pantyless in front of three people, oh the horror, the horror and the shame. Ok, back to the point of this post, the scan.

"Mutter, mutter, mutter, endom.. thin, mutter, mutter, follicule, mutter, follicule, mmmm, over here, mutter, 11mm, mutter, mmmm, mutter, mutter," says the assistant. My RE loses interest and wanders over to the desk to pick up something to read. The intern looks attentive.

"Everything's ok?" I say.

I get a vague and distracted yes as the probe (probe? That's what it's called in English? I thought it was a wand?) is moved around. "Yes, everything's fine. There's one dominant follicule which is good."

"We're in business!" says my RE. Ok, if you want to put it like that, lock and load, baby.

And the nurse called me this afternoon with my protocol so it's 150 units tonight, tomorrow and then 75 units on Sunday. Monday I go back for another scan.

Phew, so all my panicking and it was fine and now my husband is making "I'll go straight to work then on Monday morning" noises. "No! Come with me!" I want to say. What if something bad comes to light on Monday? Maybe I am just being a drama queen. Maybe everything will be fine. Oh, I hear Hope's little waltz starting up in the background.

Last time I was doing IUIs, I had the image of a couple dancing a waltz. The woman was wearing a white ballgown with a big hooped skirt and when the man turned her, her skirt swung out and seemed to lift a little off the floor as she swirled around. They seemed so light and happy, as if they were barely touching the floor as they danced around the ballroom and I thought, "That is my hope, dancing, lightly, happily, beautifully." And now, at the beginning of round two I can hear the faint strains of the hope waltz, the orchestra warming up and the couple having a drink of pink champagne (because I have no idea what one drinks in Vienna before waltzing and pink champagne seems suitably frothy for this fantasy). The scene is set and Hope is planning her entrance.

Blood, journals and doom

Today was the first blood letting, done by one of the nurses I like. "So," she said gently, "What happened?"

"I lost the amniotique fluid at 19 weeks," I said.

She nodded. "At least you are feeling strong enough to come back for another try," she said.

I don't know if I am feeling strong enough. The way I see it, I have to try again if I can and see if it works; if I fall pregnant, if I manage to carry to term. I suspect none of these things are possible but I have to try so I can tell myself I tried it all.

The nurse phoned and said my E2 is a little low at 52 so to continue with 150 units until Friday when I have a scan with the RE.

Last time I did an IUI I only injected 150 units the first 3 days and then I went down to 75 units for the rest of the time. I keep on telling myself they are merely observing and responding, it is a neutral act, but inside I'm screeching hysterically, "It's different! My body is slowing down! My body is responding less well! It's never going to work!" and down I go into the spiral of doom.

My acupuncturist asked me, "What do you do?" as in "What do you do apart from the fertility treatments and doctors' visits?" and I was seriously flummouxed. I'm usually busy but what do I say to someone when they ask that? "Ummm, I read. I watch tv. I see friends. I go for walks. I do yoga. I travel a bit." Aside from the travelling, it sounds a bit boring, even to me. Anyway, in an effort to do something ELSE, I have enrolled in course with Inspired2Write called Journaling and Art. It looks like fun. I am planning a journal entitled "The Journey to the Centre of the Womb: travels with Menopur" with a red cover and black pages although if I use black pages I will have to use a white gel pen which is not suitably melancholy. I can leave the last page symbollically empty to represent the destination. Actually red and black is more aggressive than melancholy. Maybe I should go with a dark blue cover and blue pages ... Mmm..... Oh well, at least it will get my mind off my cycle which I feel is doomed, doomed, doomed. How does one represent doomed in a colour?

The first injection

I first named this post Let the Games Begin. I stared at the title and thought, "No. Please, let the games not begin. Let this all go boringly well - injections, insemination at the right time and then ..." I am too superstitious to say anything more. This protocol worked last time but this is the first IUI since, well, since I was last pregnant. There, it's out, let's move along. So it's the first IUI and although I hope with every cell in my body that this will be all that is necessary, I know that life is so often not like this.

On Friday I was having lunch with two girlfriends on a diet. They drank their protein shakes and then one of them took out a box of cigarettes. They don't often smoke but I guess after a protein shake, you need something more. They asked if I minded if they smoked and I said no, just shuffled down the bench to move out of smoke range while I finished my salad. One of my friends said, "Mmm, we probably shouldn't smoke in front of you. With everything that has happened, you would probably get lung cancer from passive smoking!" I just smiled and said, "No, don't be silly!" and moved further down the bench. Then it struck me. For the first time in ages, I hadn't thought, "Yup, she's probably right." For the first time in a long, long, long time I thought that I would be ok.

This is a big thing for me. It suprised me that I could be more positive than someone else, especially this friend. Since getting the diabetes diagnosis and all the IF crap and losing a precious pregnancy, I have been very negative. There are bad days, really bad days when I drive too fast and think that if I crossed the road just a moment too soon, this could all be over. But on Friday, even though I was tired and not particularly optimistic, I didn't think that I would be struck down by cancer for having smoking friends, I just thought, "Let me move down the bench a bit. I'll be ok."

And to get to the point of this post, I did my first injection. My mother-in-law went to get a notepad from her bedroom, I grabbed 2 vials and the mixing liquid, slipped unobtrusively into the bathroom, knocked all three little bottles over (but fortunately they all had their lids on), picked up all three little bottles, mixed the injection and did my thing. It hurt but it's done and it was easier than I remember. Now I just have to remember to do it tomorrow night in my aunt's bathroom at her birthday party. It's a bit like being a spy. I carry my special equipment with me and go and do my thing in one of the unoccupied rooms of the house while the party goes on. Pity I can't slip out in a slinky black dress and absail down the building after the party. Must talk to my doctor about expanding my protocol a little. He'll probably be relieved to see me taking an interest in life again and not going for his jugular when he suggests I "speak to someone".

The schedule

So here we go:

Today: stop the pill (Yay! finally!!! I've been on it since August to kill a cyst)

Sunday: start the injections (mmm, less yay)

Next week: scans

12 or 13 October: IUI, depending on the scans

Do you see a slight lack of obsessive interest in the scans? I just want to do this, get through it, get it over and see what happens. Unless of course I decide to skip it completely. Who am I kidding? I am dying to do this, I have so much hope and I have so much fear.